Rainclouds of love
by annuscka
Summary: The Congo one year after. Was it just a fling, or something more? - Spoilers for S10 -


Author's comment: First lully I've written [finished] - I kinda like it. Written after a "The- Congo-one-year-after" idea, and includes some spoilers for season 10.Yhanks to Roxy for beta-ing so fast!!  
  
RAINCLOUDS OF LOVE  
  
They had been talking about rain for two weeks now, but still it felt as if someone had slapped her on the face when she stepped out. The compact, humid air fell over her and made her feel like if she was locked inside of a plastic bag, or in a sauna without ventilation or fire escape. God, did one ever get used to this climate?  
  
"Gillian!"  
  
Angelique's tense voice echoed over the fields and mountains; making her, if possibly even more annoyed, tired and bad-tempered all at once. Making her touchy and irritable.  
  
"Let me breathe, will you!" she yelled back, sitting down on the stairs.  
  
Trying to catch her breath she bowed her head between her knees and her hands on her forehead. The familiar nausea mixed with an aching tiredness and dehydration rose up again; and she tried to force it down with willpower. For a minute, everything around her disappeared and she felt like fainting; but then she suddenly was staring at her feet once again.  
  
The sounds of the chaos surrounding her came back and, slowly, she raised her head: staring at nothing and everything in front of her. The high trees leaving huge shadows on the ground - in the nights those shadows and the life that seemed to lay within them could scare her half to death, but in daylight they looked just like the threads in Montreal, though maybe except the impact the almost eternal drought started to have.  
  
There were dry branches everywhere, some right underneath the trees they had fallen from, but many more gathered in a pretty pile on what used to be Charles' parking space. The kids were playing with the branches every day, fencing, fighting, running and laughing. They were playing war while they were right inside of one. At first it had shocked her, but then she had realized that maybe they just didn't know anything else. Most of them had never seen peace - maybe they just were acting out their reality; what they thought were the normal way of adult life.  
  
The thought had kept her depressed for several days before Angelique dismissed her amateur psychology by saying that children always played war in some period of their lives, whether they lived in The Congo or Barcelona. She was right, of course, but still it always got to her when she heard the boys' happy laughter as they broke off one more branch against their imaginary enemy.  
  
Well, they still had a long way to go, she comforted herself. The Mai Mai wasn't exactly armed with dry branches.  
  
She could hear Chance's light voice from the parking lot, and as on command she turned towards it; smiling at herself when she saw the clinic's little angel jumping around on one leg among all the boys - one minute she was siding with the guys under the trees, the next she was in the middle of the ones next to the trailer that Charles apparently had left behind today. Well, he was just going to the airport - maybe he thought he didn't need it. Probably a big mistake.  
  
The emergencies here were like rain at home - if you didn't take the supplies and the trailer for transport with you, then you could be sure on stepping right into a massacre or heaps of mine victims, just as you could be sure on getting wet if you didn't bring your umbrella with you on a gloomy day in Canada.  
  
But whatever Charles might have driven himself into, literally speaking - he should be back with them by now. They should already be here - he should already be here.  
  
The thought of meeting him again gave her a chill despite the humid weather, and she wrapped her arms around herself, turning away from the children's games and laughter. This was neither a child's game nor a laughing matter. This was, horror of horrors, about the feelings. How many times had she not tried to swallow them, tried to lock them up in that closet she never would open because fifty different tablecloths would fall over her? How many mornings had she not convinced herself that she hadn't been dreaming about him, how many nights hadn't she promised herself that this would be the last time she went to bed, thinking of him and only him?  
  
But she always fell for it. Over and over again sleepless nights would become peaceful, cold rooms would warm up and the chilling fear of being alone would fade away just by the thought of him. Just brief flashes, nothing fancy - just imagining that he was there with her would make the loneliness and cold apartment disappear for a few moments; sometimes even lasting through the night. That he was hundreds of miles away didn't matter, neither the fact that she hadn't heard his voice in months: it was still as clear to her. His deep, slightly hoarse voice, his touches, his smiles and laughter were all stuck on her mind; memories that seemed to be impossible to erase and throw away. And she didn't want to either. She would keep the memories of him in her box, the box that held so many happy, funny and wonderful things - some that had happened, some that hadn't yet and some, most of them - that wouldn't.  
  
Mostly it didn't bother her. She knew exactly which things were in the past, which things possibly were in the future and which just were products of her imagination. Maybe she should be depressed over the fact that the imaginary part of the box weighed heavier than the others together, but she really wasn't. She had just made up those things, the fantasies lasted a cigarette or two, and then they'd be put away. She remembered them all, but didn't care much for them. She would put out the cigarette, throw it away and continue with what she had been doing, the thoughts might remain in the back of her head for a while but then they'd disappear into the box, be exhaled with the smoke.  
  
Maybe she was a sad person without realizing it herself, but whatever way, it didn't bother her. She could go on, from hospital to hospital, from apartment to apartment, from relationship to relationship, without really looking back. The good gossip breaks, the for once working elevator, and the lazy Sunday mornings would remain good memories; the graveyard shifts, mile long stairs and hour-long Tuesday arguments would be forgotten and erased.  
  
It was a good way of living - healthy, kept her going.  
  
Jean had found his place in the past. To be honest, he had never fully had a place in the present. It hadn't been a painful goodbye for either of them, and she didn't miss him. She had never missed a man - not until now.  
  
The sound of the once white car, that now was almost grey of dust, reached her ears where she sat, and made her jump back up on her feet.  
  
She saw them drive past the children, parking a few meters from the trailer. Charles jumped out of the driver's seat, yelling something and waving at Angelique who suddenly was standing behind her on the stairs. She replied with a happy sound that wasn't like her in any way, and rushed up to meet him. Gillian raised an eyebrow at the sight of Angelique running up to Charles as if he were her romantic hero, but chuckled as she saw them both bend over a box Charles had put down at one of the tables outside.  
  
Ah, supplies. What had she been thinking?  
  
The man who probably was the money behind the new equipment jumped out after Charles, and as he hugged Angelique the bright sun reflected itself in the ring on John's left hand. She smiled. So they had done it after all.  
  
The familiar greetings around the car warmed her heart, but her eyes were searching desperately. Wasn't he here.? Without realizing it, her left index finger travelled to her lips and despite all the times she had tried to kick the bad habit, she started biting on the almost non-existant nail. He had to be there.!  
  
Her nail biting was interrupted by a happy squeal from the children's playground. Chance came half running, half jumping, up to the car, apparently blessed with better eyes than hers.  
  
She moved on to biting her lip as he laughed and lifted up the little girl. He checked her leg while talking to her, what he said she couldn't hear, but just the thought of him being so near made her warm and cold at the same time. So close - yet so far away. Last she had seen him he had still been weak, anemic. Now nothing of it was left; he was the same, strong, dark man she had fallen head over heels for last summer.  
  
It almost scared her, seeing him again. She had lived on the fantasies all winter, knowing they eventually would come true. She knew he wouldn't be able to keep away from this place, just as she couldn't - what her own role in his decision to come back was she could only imagine, dream about.  
  
She saw him give Chance to John, the little girl giggling as the doctors fussed around her. It was obvious that they melted both of them, just like they all did when their little angel started to smile.  
  
He took back Chance and put her up on his shoulders, looking around him. Their eyes were only inches from meeting when she suddenly froze where she stood. It was too early. Too early, too soon - she couldn't do it. She wasn't ready to face him yet, not knowing what he thought. Had she just been a dragged out one-night stand, or was it something more? How had he reacted to the news about Jean's existance? Did he mind, did he care, had he been offended? Did he think less of her now, or did he care at all? Did he have someone in Chicago, had he had all along?  
  
He frowned as he looked around him. Wasn't she supposed to be here now? Hadn't Charles even smirking pointed it out to him as soon as they met at the airport?  
  
A man ran across the parking lot and into the clinic, and for a minute he thought the man was Patrique. He sighed as his sight cleared up and the obviously unknown man disappeared, making the memories from Matenda hit him as a bomb. The darkness, the fast disappearing hope. The guns, the soldiers, the shots. And then the blackout that had lasted for what seemed to be days. He still didn't remember exactly what had happened, but there was enough glued on his mind.  
  
But he had really looked forward to meeting her. It was a bit unexpected, actually. They had given each other two months, two months until they would meet again here, where everything had started. It had seemed like a long time, an eternity that might never become a reality. He had planned to come back all along, but somehow it hadn't hit him that he'd be seeing her again.  
  
Two months had passed, and so had six. When one bureaucrat started to cause trouble all the others followed, it seemed.  
  
He should have called, he really should have. He had been standing with the note with the number on in his hand many times, but had always put it down again. Was she disappointed in him? Angry? Upset? Or did she care at all - did she even remember him and the note she had hidden in his hand?  
  
Considering that she was nowhere to be found, she probably didn't.  
  
Chance kicked him on the shoulder with her good leg to get him going, and he realized that they were alone on the parking lot. He chuckled and started walking up to the clinic, listening to her singing as a little bird. He wished she was singing for rain - the heat was already killing him.  
  
She rushed through the corridor, not looking in front of her. She damned herself for behaving like this - she was hiding. Hiding from a man she longed for, missed, yearned for.  
  
Was she really so weak that she couldn't take the truth? If he didn't care then he didn't, there was nothing she could do about it.  
  
Once again the word came up in her head.  
  
Love.  
  
What was that, really? When you slept with someone, started dating and then suddenly "were together"? When you lived together with someone?  
  
She hadn't been in love with Jean. She hadn't thought of him when he kissed her welcome home at the airport, hadn't been wanting him that night, or the night after. When she finally gave in, it hadn't been him she had imagined inside of her.  
  
She had left the next morning.  
  
It hadn't been love.  
  
But this was turning into it.  
  
Her thoughts were interrupted by someone yelling for her, and the loud screams of a patient in pain. Something crashed to the floor in the improvised OR, and she heard Charles cursing over a misplaced scalpel that had found its way into his finger. The good thing about this place was that you didn't have any time to think.  
  
As she ran through the corridor she saw him in the room next door, lifting up a patient on the operating table as John hunted for any supplies at all in the almost empty room.  
  
***  
  
Hours later Angelique pulled the cleanest sheet they could find over the patient, and sighed. What did you do with two surgical hands when the patient needed eight? Charles studied the thick bandage on his right index finger, apparently wondering how it would be able to stay on when he moved around. As if Angelique had read his thoughts, she pulled it even tighter around the wound.  
  
"Don't even think about it."  
  
He gave her a look and opened his mouth before deciding that it wasn't a great idea to start bantering with her with a corpse as a witness. Gillian watched them in amusement, once again thinking about what a great team they'd make if they both just would loosen up a little.  
  
The dead solider next to her started to bother her nose no matter how used to the smell she was, and she pulled the bloody gloves off her hands.  
  
"Coffee, anyone?" she asked, realizing that she sounded like the most cold- hearted person in the world, thinking about coffee when a father of three laid dead next to her.  
  
"Black. No sugar," was Angelique's only reply as she started to sterilise the instruments.  
  
She almost laughed. "Sure."  
  
The kitchen was dark, the furniture making scary shadows all over the room. This was the darkest part of the night, when it felt like everything could happen just inches from her. At home the darkness was a friend, the host for fantasies and dreams; but here it was the enemy. What you couldn't see was always your enemy here.  
  
Quickly, she lit the lonely petroleum lamp on the shelf above the refrigerator that loudly complained about the heat. She opened it and found the water bottle behind all the medicine packages that were laid on ice, putting it against her forehead for a minute before pouring down half of it in the coffe maker she had brought from her mother's attic. The machine started working just as loudly as the refrigerator, both sounding as if they wanted to file a protest against their working conditions.  
  
"Well, we all have to put up with it," she muttered to the annoyed machines, not hearing the sound of the door opening and close.  
  
Therefore she jumped at the sound of his voice.  
  
"Making new friends?"  
  
She couldn't do anything else but giggle at his matter-of-factly look as he nodded at her discussion partners.  
  
"Thought they seemed lonely," she smiled, leaning against the sink.  
  
Her smile warmed his heart. He had tried to find her all day, but something had always come up. When he dropped off Chance in her bed he hadn't managed to do more than look around him before Carter was screaming for him, and then they had been stuck with the bleeding solider. Lifting up the patient on the table he had seen her through the open door to the other room, and knowing that she was there had made his heart jump. But as they finally were done, she had already disappeared, and Charles had nodded at the kitchen while dragging off some bandage from his hand.  
  
Now, as they stood here, he felt the awkwardness bubble up inside. What was he supposed to say?  
  
She broke the silence first.  
  
"So John go married," she said, trying to sound normal.  
  
He smiled, sitting down at the table he had been standing in front of. "Yeah."  
  
"Was the wedding nice?"  
  
"Sure." he said a bit distantly, looking out at the compact darkness.  
  
"When was the baby born?"  
  
"January," he smiled, remembering Carter's half hysterical walks up and down the corridors in the OB. "We weren't quite sure he'd make it through the pregnancy," he added.  
  
She chuckled, and he smiled again, still looking for something sensible to say.  
  
"I was worried you might not be here," he finally said, almost holding his breath.  
  
She looked down at her feet. "You were.?"  
  
"Yeah," he nodded, feeling his heart and head dispute over what to say next. "Missed you," he added silently, letting the heart win.  
  
"You did.?" she asked, damning herself for repeating his words.  
  
"Yeah," he said again.  
  
She had to bit her lip not to smile widely, and felt how she warmed up inside. He had missed her. She had never thought it.  
  
Or did he just say it.? Was he just trying to make her think so?  
  
He saw her face darken, and immediately felt something cold fall over him. Had he said too much?  
  
They were close, he at the table and she at the sink. He looked at her, not knowing what to say to make the dark shadow over he disappear.  
  
"Gillian, I.-"  
  
She made a sudden move towards him and stopped right in front of him, not even realizing it herself before she leaned her forehead against his.  
  
Fast, before she had the time to move, he wrapped an arm around her waist; happy to feel her little body relax close to him. He let his other hand get lost in her hair, closing his eyes. She wrapped her arms around his back and let out a soft moan as the memories of all the nights together fell over her, and she snuggled tighter against him.  
  
He still had the smell of Chicago in him, the scent of his cologne almost making her high. Slowly, and with a slight whimper, she let her hands travel up his neck, caressing him in a way she knew he loved. The seconds ticked away and her body ached for him more than ever before; and as the feeling grew stronger, she turned up her head towards him, looking right into his eyes.  
  
He smiled, and leaned over her, kissing her forehead. She muttered, making him chuckle.  
  
"Moody today, are we?" he asked with a warmth in his voice that made her melt in a whole other and much more pleasant way than the sultry heat outside.  
  
"Watch out," she whispered with a grin, standing up on her toes so she would be on his eye level.  
  
"I will," he smiled, leaning over her again, this time obeying her wishes.  
  
She heard how the rain started to fall outside as their lips met 


End file.
